Fog: The Climate Fiction Saga

by Wendeberg, A.

  He crouches down and finds a hatch, opens it, and squeezes into the room below the dish. I follow. He walks up to a door at the far end and presses his ear against it. I hold my breath. After a long moment, he turns the knob.

  ‘Interesting,’ Runner says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘No stench. They cleaned up and secured it.’ He nods at me. ‘From now on, no talking — no noises, until I tell you it’s okay.’ Then he slips into the dark. I take a deep breath and follow.

  I find him standing on the stairs, holding up a hand. He points at me, then at himself, and at our feet. I look down. There are small white crumbs. Shit, the clay has come off faster than I expected. I nod, reach for his stomach and undo the bandage that holds his pistol, careful to not drop the curved needle he put there earlier. We’ll need it in a moment. I tear a piece of fabric off with my teeth and tuck in the remaining end at his back. I make a sign to tell him that I’ll use the fabric later to wipe off all traces of our presence. He nods at me and we descend into the main control room.

  Without touching anything, he takes in the slight damage that has been done to the interior, the cleanliness of the room, the bleeping of the control system and the flashing lights, and the series of black screens. He pulls out the needle, takes his earbud out and inserts the sharp end where the small antennae pin is. He wiggles it and I hear a soft crackle in my ear as he makes sure that we can hear them, but they can’t hear us. Then he kneels and hides the black button under a control cabinet.

  He stands and waves at me to take my earbud out. I do as he asks and place it in his outstretched hand. It, too, gets pricked; he then puts the needle back into his fabric wrapper. The little poker will go back into the MedKit in his ruck once we’re out of here. I hope we’ll never need it to stitch up wounds.

  We leave the control room and walk down another set of stairs and into a large hall that looks like a combination of common room and entrance area. He points at the door. A steel plate is bolted to the wall, covering most of the entrance. We take a careful peek behind it. Wires, light grey packages that must contain the explosives, and a controller that looks harmlessly small. Runner nods, satisfied.

  We walk to the side entrance and see the same scene. He squats down and hides my earbud behind a tall shelf, then stands and waves at me to clean up and follow him. I spit at the cloth and take great care to wipe away our clay traces while we walk back up the stairs, into the control room, and higher up and out to the satellite dish.

  Runner slides the door shut, turns to me, and says quietly, ‘Both doors were connected to the frames with a thin copper wire. If we had opened them, the wire would have disconnected and the resulting explosion would have killed anyone in front of that door. The thick steel plate is to direct the detonation away from the common room. The force of the blast would rip apart the door and everyone outside within at least a twenty metre radius. You can get in unharmed only with the remote for the small control box you’ve seen at the door. Now, the question is why have they set another trap so close to this first, very effective one? The vines they’ve prepped are connected to an amount of explosives that would kill the person who steps on the vines, but that wouldn’t damage the doors beyond repair and wouldn’t set off the door bombs. The door bombs are constructed so that only minimal damage will be done to the interior. This control centre seems to be of great value to the BSA. Very odd.’

  ‘Why? Don’t they need to come here for…controlling satellites? Or communicating? Or something?’ I ask. ‘And didn’t Kat say they might be able to control a different satellite cluster? Ours? So isn’t it logical to do it from here?’

  ‘No. To answer your first question: The communication can be done from afar, they don’t need to sit right here in the observatory. We don’t do that either, do we? And no one says that whoever controls satellites for the BSA has to be here in Taiwan. That man can sit anywhere on the planet.’

  True. I’ve never been inside a satellite control centre until today, but I’ve been using satellite data and imagery for months now. I tip my head at him.

  ‘If they don’t care about maintenance or long-term use of this particular control centre, they don’t need to come here again,’ he continues. ‘About your next question: Why would the commander of this BSA group be the same person who controls satellites for them? If they had any brains, their satellite control centre would be far from any Sequencer’s base. I expect the BSA to leave Taiwan soon, in a month at the latest. They’ve killed most or all of the people here already. But…’ He squints up at the sun. It stands clear and bright in a blue sky, yet he doesn’t seem to see it. His mind is racing. ‘Why would they want to…’ He takes a step back, his hand shielding his eyes. ‘This is not good.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, nodding towards the sun and the shadows cast sharply onto the white ground before our feet. Our own shadows would give us away in no time.

  Runner’s jaws are working, his eyes taking in all details of our surroundings.

  ‘That cloud might give us two minutes to rappel.’ I point my chin to the largest of the few white blobs in the sky. ‘Tell me what you are thinking.’

  ‘It seems… There are indications…’ He exhales and looks at me. ‘I’m not sure. I have to think about it more. But it seems as if the BSA is setting up headquarters here, if one can call it that. If they ever… I’ll explain in a bit. Now, let me think.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll find a way to get us out of here within two minutes.’

  We watch the cloud drifting closer to the sun. My mind is full of the rappelling procedure: undo the line, re-tie it so we can take it with us once we are on the ground, clip both clips to the line, set both to rappel mode, grab and jump.

  ‘Thirty seconds,’ I tell Runner. ‘I fix the line. You make sure we don’t jump on the booby traps.’

  He nods.

  ‘Ten seconds.’ We are standing at the very edge of the shadow — black against white. Then the contrast blurs, softens some more, and is gone entirely. ‘Move,’ I say and rush to the rope. My fingers fly over the knot and I curse myself for not having untied it when we came up here. I use my teeth and nails, but the knot doesn’t budge.

  ‘Let me,’ Runner hisses. His strong fingers extract the loops from each other and I begin pulling in the line while he keeps an eye on the cloud.

  ‘Less than a minute,’ he says while I re-tie the line.

  ‘Go!’ I slap his shoulders, and he fastens his clips to the line and jumps from view. I grab my clips and position myself at the roof’s edge. My knees clack against each other. I turn to face the wall and push myself off, then drop. My hasty and incorrect grip on the clips becomes evident instantly. The friction of the line sears my palms, biting my skin until I think I can’t take it any longer. Then my feet hit the ground and Runner’s hands grab the line, yank at one end, and pull the length of it down to the ground.

  I can see the light rushing in from the jungle. The cloud is moving away from the sun. Our leaf-hats are far out of reach and we are two extremely white humans on a lush green surface.

  ‘Run!’ he growls and my legs obey while my mind is still in line-wrapping mode. Runner is right behind me. The rustling tells me that he’s dragging the length of line behind him.

  We race to the forest’s edge and press against a thick tree, breathing heavily. Runner pulls in the rope. There’s a satisfied grin on his face.

  My feet hit the forest floor. Cypress needles poke my soles. High above us, tied to the very top of the tree, the amplifier swings in the wind, its antennae tucked into a thick cloud cover that now begins to spit down on us. Even in clear weather, you wouldn’t be able to see the small amplifier if you weren’t looking for it. This part of our mission went well; I only wish the weather had changed before we started climbing the observatory walls.

  ‘Four earbuds left. Until we are off the island, or until Kat tells us she’s picked up the signal, one of us will always wear one of these,’ Runner says and sticks the
button into his ear. ‘We’ll switch every four to six hours.’

  Once Kat receives the signals from the observatory, she should hear us, too. I don’t like her eavesdropping. ‘The clay’s itching. I want to get rid of it,’ I tell Runner.

  He nods and we head back to our camp, then onwards to the stream, but in different directions. He’s walking farther downstream from me.

  Soon, I stumble upon an enormous bathtub.

  Water is thundering off the broad rock and straight into a pool rimmed by fern and blooming shrubs. Old cypresses shelter the secret place. The water reaches up to my knees when I stick my legs into it, and quickly grows deeper with each step. Soon, my feet lose contact with the sand and rocks below. I wash the white clay off, and pick clumps from my hair. The drumroll of water is mesmerising. I swim and let the waterfall push me down. Thunder in my ears and on my body makes me feel as if I’m in a small, pulsating universe of my own.

  Thoughts of Runner and his drowning attempts creep in unbidden and I kick myself upwards, gulping fresh air when my head breaks the surface. I can still hear the sound of his voice, the taste of it is still on my tongue. Detached, that’s how he seemed. It made his story even sadder, tightening the grip it still has on me. I wonder if he ever learned to enjoy a good swim.

  I roll in the pool until my skin is all goosebumpy, then make for the shore. The air is warm despite the light rain. I pick up the bandages that lie in a disorderly pile next to my clothes, dunk them into the pool and rub them clean. Although I’d rather not think of wounds caused by bullets, knives, or explosives, I know we’ll need the bandages one day. Who of us will make it? whispers in my mind.

  ‘Shut up,’ I hiss and wring the water from the fabric.

  Movement catches my eyes. Dark shapes flit underneath the water’s surface, and form a group of ten or fifteen in a corner of the pool. I snatch my clothes, get dressed, and run back to where I left Runner.

  He’s leaning against a tree, his eyes sharp, brows drawn low. Droplets are rolling off his hair and into his lap where he holds the SatPad. ‘Can you do your planning and analysis thing while we catch fish?’

  He shrugs. ‘Sure.’

  A few minutes later, each of us holds a stick with line, hook, and an impaled, wriggling insect into the pool.

  ‘Did you ever learn how to swim?’ I ask cautiously.

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘Are you good at it?’

  He narrows his eyes at me. A warning.

  ‘Yep, that’s what I thought. I can teach you.’

  Runner is totally busy staring at the fish circling his bait.

  ‘There’s only one trick to it,’ I continue. ‘You have to allow the water to carry you, to pull you down, and lift you up again. You have to go with it, not against it. It’s like flying. Only…safer.’

  My heart clenches at his sudden paleness. Then a fish bites and I have to let Runner off my hook.

  ‘I’ll start a fire, you clean the fish,’ he says, as he slaps the wriggling animal next to me on the rock, and walks away. I whack its head with a stone; eyes and tail relax at once. It looks a lot like a rainbow trout, only without the prism of colours. Since the fish is too small for both of us, I wait until another one bites, then I scale and gut the two, and head back.

  Runner has already straightened the green tarp high above a small pile of wood. We can’t keep the fire burning long. Once night falls, the glow would be visible outside the cover of the tarp.

  Silently, we watch the flames spring to life. I wrap the two fish in broad leaves and place the packages into the embers. The sizzling of food and crackling of the fire mingles with the sound of rain tapping on the tarp above our heads. The scents of wet earth and forest, of burnt wood and frying fish wash over me. This is all I need to feel whole. I don’t miss my former life one bit.

  ‘So,’ I say once I’ve swallowed the last bite of my lunch. ‘Will you tell me now what you are thinking?’

  ‘I believe the BSA came here to stay. It’s only an assumption. I need more information from Kat before I can be sure.’

  ‘Like what? I mean…what information do you need?’

  ‘If their forces are small, say ten to thirty men, we could take them down quickly without any problem. But they’ve wiped Taiwan clean, it seems. The question is: have part of their original forces left or is everyone still here? The latter is more likely, I think. Considering their control over satellites, the fact that they chose this isolated location to set up camp, and the possibility that they might turn this into their headquarters, I wonder if reinforcements are on the way. I need to know if there are any movements at sea or land that would indicate a plan to strengthen their position here. And I have to know what the Chinese satellite cluster can do, which of their systems was hacked.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s a big difference whether someone controls a weather satellite or a cluster of military and espionage satellites.’

  The latter sounds somewhat more dangerous or sophisticated, but I don’t even really know what a weather satellite can do (except tell us when it’s raining, but I can do that by looking up at the sky), or how that one is any different from military satellites. Runner seems tense, worried. I opt for a diversion. ‘Okay. Let’s go for a swim. We have time. We don’t leave until nightfall.’

  He coughs and slams a fist to his chest. ‘Bone,’ he explains and clears his throat violently.

  ‘You are scared. That’s okay. In an hour, you’ll love it. I promise.’

  ‘You are overly convinced of yourself.’ He stands, throws the chestnuts into the embers, and shovels handfuls of dirt on top.

  ‘One has to know one’s own qualities.’ I grin.

  He frowns at me, arms crossed over his chest. ‘Okay, let’s go then.’ A casual and light remark. I know he’s faking it.

  When we arrive at the pool, he takes off his pants and shirt, and stands there with only his shorts hugging his hips. I realise with shock that I didn’t think it all through to the end. Staring at Runner, I can’t help but count the battle scars. There’s one on his shoulder that looks like a bullet passed through it a few years ago. The scar on his neck is still thick and the blackish tint won’t ever go away. That’s where the wild dog mauled him. There’s another one just above the hipbone, right where… Shit, the whole man is made of raw physical power; the muscular edge curving along the top of his hipbones has nothing of the gently sloping contours of Yi-Ting’s body.

  My stomach cramps. He squints at me in puzzlement and I begin to stutter, ‘Um…stupid idea. You are…you can drown the two of us. All that’s needed is a little panic and…’

  ‘Micka—’

  ‘I mean…if I were to panic, I could drown you if you are not prepared. You know, fear of death makes everyone strong as an ox. See this?’ I wave my hand at him. He looks down at himself and shrugs, as if the rippling of stomach muscles is totally harmless. ‘Dude, I’ll never get a good grip on you if you are about to drown and panic and then—’

  ‘I won’t panic.’

  Of course he will! Or I will. A growl thrums in my chest. Shit. No excuses left. I look down at my pants and fumble with the waistband. My fingers quiver.

  ‘I, too, have scars,’ he says softly and I remember that he knows I’m a cutter. He’s even seen the 1/2986 carved into my lower arm.

  ‘Yeah, but you are…’ I bite my tongue. I was about to blurt out “beautiful.” That’d be so awkward that I’d dig myself a hole.

  ‘You are, too,’ he says.

  I burst out laughing. This man is nuts.

  He crosses his arms over his chest.

  Hoping he’ll soon put his shirt back on, I tear my eyes off him and stare up at the treetops. If all fails, I’ll pretend to be annoyed.

  ‘You are a warrior and warriors have scars. Suck it up. Now show me your swimming skills.’

  My cheeks grow hot. I give him a stiff nod and put my hands back to my waistband to pull the strings tighter. I don�
��t want my pants to slide down when they are wet and heavy.

  Runner grins and shakes his head. ‘I guess I’m supposed to go in?’

  ‘Yep.’

  As we walk into the pool, his body tenses with insecurity. What a contrast to his always so sure and calm demeanour. Now, I regret I asked this of him.

  ‘The pool is deepest over there,’ I point at the waterfall. ‘We’ll swim there later, but not now.’

  He looks at it, then up at the gap in the foliage. The rain has stopped, but the clouds are still thick.

  ‘Ready?’ I ask.

  He shrugs. ‘I told you I can swim.’

  ‘Yeah, but you wanted me to show you how to swim across the swamp. I won’t even consider teaching you that if you can’t show me a few good strokes in normal…I mean, liquid water. Not mud.’ Boy, I’m glad I found a reasonable excuse. Because most of all I don’t believe he can swim; he gets all flustered when water reaches to his hip. He might be able to hold himself above the water for a few minutes, but that has nothing to do with swimming.

  ‘Besides…’ I continue, ‘…I want you to enjoy it. Come.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Pretend you trust me,’ I dare him.

  We walk farther into the pool until the water licks at my chest. ‘We’ll dive now, straight down, no fancy stuff. Keep your eyes open and do what I do.’

  Not waiting for his consent, I plunge head first into the cold. Silvery bubbles swirl around me. Grabbing a rock at the bottom, I watch Runner copying my moves. I pull myself down and press my stomach against the rock’s smooth surface. He pulls himself farther down too, then lets go and floats up. I twist my neck to keep an eye on him. His legs kick, his head is above the surface. Then he sticks his face underwater, looking where I am. I grin and wait. He’ll be nervous now. And then, he dives back down to check if I’m still alive. His black eyes are huge when he touches my cheek. I show him a broad smile and we rise to the surface together.